Dreams of destruction
by RonCN
Summary: Yartar is peaceful once again under the rule of a Paladin of Tyr. However, not everyone is happy with the change... and one man finds Talos more than willing to help him. If he surrenders his humanity first, that is.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer_: This fanfiction is a novelized retelling of a campaign... but not yet another retelling of the original campaign (though I might undertake such task at some point). I mean to make my very own special tribute to Steve B's phenomenal module, Blackguard. Of course I am not making any profit out of this, and I do not wish to take credit that does not belong to me: the story, all characters but the main one – and even a bit of that one – belong to the fantastic Steve B; the game's resources belong to their developers and ultimately their company; the world of Faerun belongs to Wizards of the Coast... and you know the drill. No copyright infringement is intended in any way, I merely wish to entertain, to write, and to share this incredible story with everyone who cares to read.

_Note_: Better to be safe than sorry: this story won't turn out mild. As it may be inferred from the title, it is about the rising of a Blackguard, a true unholy paladin, a champion of darkness and destruction. I am not sure as of yet of the tone I'll give the text, but I am partial to a bit of introspective narrative and the mind of a Blackguard is not exactly a bright place. In any case, events portrayed will be violent at best, and cruel and sadistic at times: not for people who is bothered by extremely unmoral actions. Consider yourself warned of this, because I refuse to be blamed for any disgusting experience people might have when reading this work: after all, I am exploring the darkest side.

All's said now; let's move on to the real story.

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**Introduction**

Dark smoke thickened the air, heavy with the acrid smell of burning flesh. The anguished screams of the panicked citizens were drowned out by the roaring of the flames as they engulfed the homes and buildings of Yartar, leaving but mounds of ashes and piles of blackened debris on their wake.

Many had already perished, but many others still run blindly, trying desperately to find a way out, any way out; finding none. At last, a small party of survivors managed to gather close to the entrance to Tyr's temple, and they tried to make it through the ransacked marketplace to the city gates. However, they hadn't managed to cover a third of the way when one of them, a young woman, shrieked in horror: there, barely discernible behind the smoke and the flames, a lone figure stood like a demon out of the deepest pits of the Abyss. It advanced forward, revealing a young man in his late twenties clad in banded mail, the easiness of the warrior in his step, a greatsword leaning on his shoulder. He stopped within sight of the fleeing group, and he smiled genuinely, the fiery light reflecting off his chocolate colored eyes.

"I don't think so."

His deep baritone voice was heard above the noises of the dying city, and, seemingly on cue, the city gates were thrown open behind him as a group of savage orcs poured in. The small group of terrified citizens still attempted to run, and the young woman who had first spotted the stranger turned to him, pleading for help.

He rocked back on his hells and watched.

Just as the last disemboweled, lifeless bodies fell to the ground and the stranger allowed himself to breathe out in contentment at the development of events, a second figure stepped through the carnage and stood by his side. He was clad in shiny full plate armor, and although his features were hidden by a scintillating helm, there was a definite air of amusement to him. He strolled casually, unarmed, but the sheer personality that radiated off of him in waves made it clear that he was the more dangerous of the two. He surveyed the scene, and then laughed. The head of the first man snapped to the side and fixed the newcomer with a deathly glare.

"You" he bit out. "What are you doing here? Leave... me... the... hell... alone!"

"Why, yes, I am here. And I must say that I do enjoy visiting you... so dark, so full of hate! As for the reasons of my presence, it is you who has called me, my friend"

"I haven't done such a thing!" the young man seethed. "All I've done is destroying this wretched city, full of traitors and hypocrites and..."

"Again", stated the second man, cutting in.

"Indeed, again. I'll destroy it as many times as I see fit, until it's gone forever."

The other man chuckled.

"But Duncan... Oh, surely you realize that orcs will get you only so far?"

Barely had his words left his mouth when a small group of trained warriors charged out of the temple, following the lead of a righteous paladin. The humanoids, who were still lingering in the area after their kill looking for new preys, were poor fighters when it came down to it, and in mere seconds their blood run hot, mixing with that of their most recent victims and watering the reddish road.

Duncan stared at the intruders, tasting bile in his mouth as his anger raised higher and higher, building up against the dam of his self-restraint, a crimson veil slowly covering his eyes and blurring his vision. He turned on the man still standing by his side.

"How do you dare? I'll have my revenge! Yartar will fall!"

"Really, now. It doesn't look that way to me..." the unknown man pressed on.

The man's breath started coming in short, ragged pants. His handsome face contorted with a look of sheer rage.

"You... you... It will fall! I will bring it down! I will call onto whatever power I must, and it will heed my words and my will and Yartar will suffer!"

As the man spoke, hatred and passion growing in his soul, it seemed as if the dark powers he had just named were indeed listening to him, granting his wish, and with an ear shattering rumble, the ground shook as several thin, deep ditches opened up around the group of saviors. With a final grunt Duncan willed the invocation to be completed, and four huge, twisted demonic creatures appeared with a red lingering light and a faint sulfuric smell. He smiled as the weapons of the pathetic defenders bounced against the hardened exoskeleton of the monsters, whose long beaks and merciless talons pierced through shields and armor alike as if it were naked flesh. Duncan let out a mirthless, satisfied laugh.

"As I said. They will die."

"You truly show potential, my friend. But you will not go anywhere by yourself. Or do you believe that it will be so easy to call upon the gods? But your heart is black with hate and your soul thirsts for bloody revenge, and with a guide you might rise to fulfill your destiny. You are headed to Yartar... once there, you must seek out and find a man by the name Fargrak: he will be waiting for you, and with his help you will be able to attain your goal."

Duncan looked confused for a moment, the adrenaline leaving his system and allowing him to think clearer.

"Fargrak? Who is that man? Where will I find him? And anyway, who are you?"

"Your questions are most interesting, young Duncan Blake. I am sure you will find your answers, but now... there is much to do. Wake up!"


	2. Chapter I Yartar's gates

_Note and Disclaimer_: See introduction.

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Chapter I

Duncan woke up with a start, his breath coming in quick, hollow draws. He stared up at the rather cloudy and dull night sky, and reached up to brush his short dark hair back from his sweaty brow. By the Hells, he was so tired. Excitement at the prospect of what he was about to do kept him awake most nights lately, and though his body was crackling with pent-up energy born from his desire to do what he must, the stress was surely starting to wear him down. At least, that was the best explanation he could come up with about his weird dream. True, it was not the first time he saw the unknown warrior, the Dream Walker as he had come to call the mysterious man, and certainly it was not the first time he dreamt about destroying Yartar. Those dreams were the only ones plaguing his mind – either he slept dreamlessly and out of fatigue, or the damned city of Yartar was brought to its knees before him. For more than ten long years, such had been his routine, and a handful of times the Dream Walker had just wandered into his unconscious mind, watching and laughing, but he had never before talked to him. Yes, Duncan had shouted at him, had demanded to know who he was, why he was there... but he had never answered, much less had he dared intervene. Now... now Duncan had been granted an answer, albeit a rather cryptic one, and he had been pointed in a direction. It unsettled him.

He sat up on his bedroll, casting a quick glance around out of habit to make sure that his things were just as he had left them, and seeing that it was so, he thought about getting some more rest, but he quickly dismissed the idea: he was close, so close to the city of his childhood... there was no time to lose. Dawn was but a short while ahead, and even if he lifted camp at the moment, he would not get to Yartar's gates before they were opened for the merchants to pour in. He dressed up and diligently prepared to leave the small campsite. Surveying the area one last time, he approached to road with long, confident strides that never betrayed the turmoil in his head. Should he seek out the man the Dream Walker had told him about? Would it be a trap? Would it be real? More importantly, would it help him to accomplish his goal? He thought it could very well do so, and he made up his mind. After all, uncertainty was but a weakness, and he was resolved to approach the city and the Bitch within its walls as just the opposite thing of weak. He smiled as the road became visible, just a couple of miles away from his destiny.

_Fair enough. Onwards to Yartar and to this Fragrak I go... _

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She was beautiful, Yartar. The City Hall stood proud on the eastern side of it, and the tip of Timora's temple could just be seen behind the walls. Right next to it, a new, insulting monument had arisen in Duncan's absence: a temple of Tyr. He snorted when he saw it, recognizing it at first glance for what it was even though he was still a good distance away: nobody should be surprised, after all the Bitch did worship Tyr, didn't she? Duncan kept walking, sinking in old bittersweet memories as he neared the gates. However, he was not alive because of sheer chance, and his finely tuned senses told him that there was someone close by paying him close attention as soon as he set one foot under the shadows of the great white walls.

_They can't __have recognized me, can they?,_ he thought, distressed. If people still remembered the Blake name, then his situation might just get really awkward, really quickly. He tensed, and moved his right hand to rest at the hilt of his dagger, slowing down and throwing a couple of suspicious glances around. Then he saw it. A figure detached itself from the shadows and approached, coming to a halt a scarce couple of yards away.

"You must be Duncan Blake, then?", the newcomer said.

_Fuck_.

Duncan frowned and assessed the man in front of him. He'd be damned if after all this time he was going to back off now. If this fool stood in his way, just as he was doing, then he'd have to kill him. Deplorable, really, because surely the scoundrel could have other uses, but...

The other man saw a flash of steely determination crossing the younger one's features, and a hint of something darker and much too sinister for his own liking. Carefully, as one might thread around a wounded dire bear, he took a step back and held up his hands.

"I got a message for you. Fragrak is waiting. He will meet you at the Guild's quarters."

_Fragrak. So he's real after all_. "And you will tell me where to find those quarters." He formulated the sentence as a statement rather than as a question, but arched one of his eyebrows to allow his interlocutor to keep talking and to give him his message.

"Well, I cannot do that." Upon seeing the expression glistening in Blake's eyes, the man quickly back-pedaled himself out of the situation. "I mean, of course I can tell you... but you see, the door is warded and you will need a special token to get in. I don't have them tokens to give around, they're only awarded to the Hand of Yartar members, you see?"

_Patience. Whatever god who's listening, grant me patience..._ Duncan felt the need to roll his eyes or pinch the bridge of his nose, but he restrained himself and said, slowly and deliberately, "What is your name, Fragrak's errand boy?"

"Name's Morcis. I am not Fragrak's errand boy, though. He is pretty new to the city and..."

Duncan held up a hand to stop him. "And, pray do tell, how am I supposed to meet with Fragrak now, Morcis?"

The older man had spent nearly 20 years working for the Hand of Yartar, the local thieves and assassins' guild, and he had seen crazed maniacs and thugs and everything in between. He had never seen what lurked in the depths of the younger one's eyes, and the chill it sent up and down his spine made him realize that he didn't want to see it ever again.

"Grassar's the man you are looking for now. He is in charge of this kind of stuff. Go and talk to him... Should be easy to find, he's surely at his warehouse, close to the Waterbaroness palace. That is on the western bank..."

"I know where that is", Duncan barked out. He glared at Morcis, gauging him, controlling the overwhelming desire to kill him that had surged through his chest. After all, the man had just turned him into an errand boy, hadn't him? But as the thief took a step backwards, he smiled and gave him a curt nod. He was sure that the man would stay in Yartar. Where else would he go? And if he ever needed information, he was sure that he'd get it fast and true. He saw it on the cowering man's eyes. Indeed, as he had suspected, this scoundrel could prove useful. As he walked on into the city, deciding if he should go and try to find Grassar straight away or if he should find an inn and re-acquaintance himself with the city first, he laughed almost merrily. Everyone and anyone had some use.

_And I shall exploit them all before I destroy them._

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End file.
